THIRTY-FIVE - OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY

"Dr. Malone," said Lyra in the morning, "Will and me have got to look for our daemons. When weve found them, well know what to do. But we cant be without them for much longer. So we just want to go and look."

"Where will you go?" said Mary, heavy-eyed and headachy after her disturbed night. She and Lyra were on the riverbank, Lyra to wash, and Mary to look, surreptitiously, for the mans footprints. So far she hadnt found any.

"Dont know," said Lyra. "But theyre out there somewhere. As soon as we came through from the battle, they ran away as if they didnt trust us anymore. Cant say I blame them, either. But we know theyre in this world, and we thought we saw them a couple of times, so maybe we can find them."

"Listen," Mary said reluctantly, and told Lyra about the man shed seen the night before.

As she spoke, Will came to join them, and both he and Lyra listened, wide-eyed and serious.

"Hes probably just a traveler and he found a window and wandered through from somewhere else," Lyra said when Mary had finished. "Like Wills father did. Theres bound to be all kinds of openings now. Anyway, if he just turned around and left, he cant have meant to do anything bad, can he?"

"I dont know. I didnt like it. And Im worried about you going off on your own, or I would be if I didnt know youd already done far more dangerous things than that. Oh, I dont know. But please be careful. Please look all around. At least out on the prairie you can see someone coming from a long way off..."

"If we do, we can escape straight away into another world, so he wont he able to hurt us," Will said.

They were determined to go, and Mary was reluctant to argue.

"At least," she said, "promise that you wont go in among the trees. If that man is still around, he might be hiding in a wood or a grove and you wouldnt see him in time to escape."

"We promise," said Lyra.

"Well, Ill pack you some food in case youre out all day."

Mary took some flat bread and cheese and some sweet, thirst-quenching red fruits, wrapped them in a cloth, and tied a cord around it for one of them to carry over a shoulder.

"Good hunting," she said as they left. "Please take care."

She was still anxious. She stood watching them all the way to the foot of the slope.

"I wonder why shes so sad," Will said as he and Lyra climbed the road up to the ridge.

"Shes probably wondering if shell ever go home again," said Lyra. "And if her laboratoryll still be hers when she does. And maybe shes sad about the man she was in love with."

"Mmm," said Will. "Dyou think well ever go home?"

"Dunno. I dont suppose Ive got a home anyway. They probably couldnt have me back at Jordan College, and I cant live with the bears or the witches. Maybe I could live with the gyptians. I wouldnt mind that, if theyd have me."

"What about Lord Asriels world? Wouldnt you want to live there?"

"Its going to fail, remember," she said.

"Why?"

"Because of what your fathers ghost said, just before we came out. About daemons, and how they can only live for a long time if they stay in their own world. But probably Lord Asriel, I mean my father,

couldnt have thought about that, because no one knew enough about other worlds when he started... All that," she said wonderingly, "all that bravery and skill... All that, all wasted! All for nothing!"

They climbed on, finding the going easy on the rock road, and when they reached the top of the ridge, they stopped and looked back.

"Will," she said, "supposing we dont find them?"

"Im sure we will. What Im wondering is what my daemon will be like."

"You saw her. And I picked her up," Lyra said, blushing, because of course it was a gross violation of manners to touch something so private as someone elses daemon. It was forbidden not only by politeness, but by something deeper than that, something like shame. A quick glance at Wills warm cheeks showed that he knew that just as well as she did.

They walked on side by side, suddenly shy with each other. But Will, not put off by being shy, said, "When does your daemon stop changing shape?"

"About... I suppose about our age, or a bit older. Maybe more sometimes. We used to talk about Pan settling, him and me. We used to wonder what hed be...”

"Dont people have any idea?"

"Not when theyre young. As you grow up you start thinking, well, they might be this or they might be that... And usually they end up something that fits. I mean something like your real nature. Like if your daemons a dog, that means you like doing what youre told, and knowing whos boss, and following orders, and pleasing people who are in charge. A lot of servants are people whose daemons are dogs. So it helps to know what youre like and to find what youd be good at. How do people in your world know what theyre like?"

"I dont know. I dont know much about my world. All I know is keeping secret and quiet and hidden, so I dont know much about... grownups, and friends. Or lovers. I think itd be difficult having a daemon because everybody would know so much about you just by looking. I like to keep secret and stay out of sight."

"Then maybe your daemond be an animal thats good at hiding. Or one of those animals that looks like another, a butterfly that looks like a wasp, for disguise. They must have creatures like that in your world, because we have, and were so much alike."

They walked on together in a friendly silence. All around them the wide, clear morning lay limpid in the hollows and pearly blue in the warm air above. As far as the eye could see, the great savanna rolled, brown, gold, buff-green, shimmering toward the horizon, and empty. They might have been the only people in the world.

"But its not empty really," Lyra said.

"You mean that man?"

"No. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. I can see shadows in the grass... maybe birds," Will said.

He was following the little darting movements here and there. He found it easier to see the shadows if he didnt look at them. They were more willing to show themselves to the corners of his eye, and when he said so to Lyra, she said, "Its negative capability."

"Whats that?"

"The poet Keats said it first. Dr. Malone knows. Its how I read the alethiometer. Its how you use the knife, isnt it?"

"Yes, I suppose it is. But I was just thinking that they might be the daemons."

"So was I, but..."

She put her finger to her lips. He nodded.

"Look," he said, "theres one of those fallen trees."

It was Marys climbing tree. They went up to it carefully, keeping an eye on the grove in case another one should fall. In the calm morning, with only a faint breeze stirring the leaves, it seemed impossible that a mighty thing like this should ever topple, but here it was.

The vast trunk, supported in the grove by its torn-up roots and out on the grass by the mass of branches, was high above their heads. Some of those branches, crushed and broken, were themselves as big around as the biggest trees Will had ever seen; the crown of the tree, tight-packed with boughs that still looked sturdy, leaves that were still green, towered like a ruined palace into the mild air.

Suddenly Lyra gripped Wills arm.

"Shh," she whispered. "Dont look. Im sure theyre up there. I saw something move and I swear it was Pan..."

Her hand was warm. He was more aware of that than of the great mass of leaves and branches above them. Pretending to gaze vacantly at the horizon, he let his attention wander upward into the confused mass of green, brown, and blue, and there, she was right! , there was a something that was not the tree. And beside it, another.

"Walk away," Will said under his breath. "Well go somewhere else and see if they follow us."

"Suppose they dont... But yes, all right," Lyra whispered back.

They pretended to look all around; they set their hands on one of the branches resting on the ground, as if they were intending to climb; they pretended to change their minds, by shaking their heads and walking away.

"I wish we could look behind," Lyra said when they were a few hundred yards away.

"Just go on walking. They can see us, and they wont get lost. Theyll come to us when they want to."

They stepped off the black road and into the knee-high grass, swishing their legs through the stems, watching the insects hovering, darting, fluttering, skimming, hearing the million-voiced chorus chirrup and scrape.

"What are you going to do, Will?" Lyra said quietly after theyd walked some way in silence.

"Well, Ive got to go home," he said.

She thought he sounded unsure, though. She hoped he sounded unsure.

"But they might still be after you," she said. "Those men."

"Weve seen worse than them, after all."

"Yes, I suppose... But I wanted to show you Jordan College, and the Fens. I wanted us to..."

"Yeah," he said, "and I wanted... It would be good to go to Cittagazze again, even. It was a beautiful place, and if the Specters are all gone... But theres my mother. Ive got to go back and look after her. I just left her with Mrs. Cooper, and its not fair on either of them."

"But its not fair on you to have to do that."

"No," he said, "but thats a different sort of not fair. Thats just like an earthquake or a rainstorm. It might not be fair, but no ones to blame. But if I just leave my mother with an old lady who isnt very well herself, then thats a different kind of not fair. That would be wrong. Ive just got to go home. But probably its going to be difficult to go back as we were. Probably the secrets out now. I dont suppose Mrs. Cooper will have been able to look after her, not if my mothers in one of those times when she gets frightened of things. So shes probably had to get help, and when I go back, Ill be made to go into some kind of institution."

"No! Like an orphanage?"

"I think thats what they do. I just dont know. Ill hate it."

"You could escape with the knife, Will! You could come to my world!"

"I still belong there, where I can be with her. When Im grown up Ill be able to look after her properly, in my own house. No one can interfere then."

"Dyou think youll get married?"

He was quiet for a long time. She knew he was thinking, though.

"I cant see that far ahead," he said. "It would have to be someone who understands about... I dont think theres any one like that in my world. Would you get married?"

"Me too," she said. "Not to anyone in my world, I shouldnt think."

They walked on steadily, wandering toward the horizon. They had all the time in the world: all the time the world had.

After a while Lyra said, "You will keep the knife, wont you? So you could visit my world?"

"Of course. I certainly wouldnt give it to anyone else, ever."

"Dont look...” she said, not altering her pace. "There they are again. On the left."

"They are following us," said Will, delighted.

"Shh!"

"I thought they would. Okay, well just pretend now, well just wander along as if were looking for them, and well look in all sorts of stupid places."

It became a game. They found a pond and searched among the reeds and in the mud, saying loudly that the daemons were bound to be shaped like frogs or water beetles or slugs; they peeled off the bark of a long-fallen tree at the edge of a string-wood grove, pretending to have seen the two daemons creeping underneath it in the form of earwigs; Lyra made a great fuss of an ant she claimed to have trodden on, sympathizing with its bruises, saying its face was just like Pans, asking in mock sorrow why it was refusing to speak to her.

But when she thought they were genuinely out of earshot, she said earnestly to Will, leaning close to speak quietly:

"We had to leave them, didnt we? We didnt have a choice really?"

"Yes, we had to. It was worse for you than for me, but we didnt have any choice at all. Because you made a promise to Roger, and you had to keep it."

"And you had to speak to your father again..."

"And we had to let them all out."

"Yes, we did. Im so glad we did. Pan will be glad one day, too, when I die. We wont be split up. It was a good thing we did."

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the air became warmer, they began to look for shade. Toward noon they found themselves on the slope rising toward the summit of a ridge, and when theyd reached it, Lyra flopped down on the grass and said, "Well! If we dont find somewhere shady soon..."

There was a valley leading down on the other side, and it was thick with bushes, so they guessed there might be a stream as well. They traversed the slope of the ridge till it dipped into the head of the valley, and there, sure enough, among ferns and reeds, a spring bubbled out of the rock.

They dipped their hot faces in the water and swallowed gratefully, and then they followed the stream downward, seeing it gather in miniature whirlpools and pour over tiny ledges of stone, and all the time get fuller and wider.

"How does it do that?" Lyra marveled. "Theres no more water coming into it from anywhere else, but theres so much more of it here than up there."

Will, watching the shadows out of the corner of his eye, saw them slip ahead, leaping over the ferns to disappear into the bushes farther down. He pointed silently.

"It just goes slower," he said. "It doesnt flow as fast as the spring comes out, so it gathers in these pools... Theyve gone in there," he whispered, indicating a little group of trees at the foot of the slope.

They looked at each other, a curiously formal and serious look, before setting off to follow the stream. The undergrowth got thicker as they went down the valley; the stream went into tunnels of green and emerged in dappled clearings, only to tumble over a lip of stone and bury itself in the green again, and they had to follow it as much by hearing as by sight.

At the foot of the hill, it ran into the little wood of silver-barked trees.

Father Gomez watched from the top of the ridge. It hadnt been hard to follow them; despite Marys confidence in the open savanna, there was plenty of concealment in the grass and the occasional thickets of string-wood and sap-lacquer bushes. The two young people had spent a lot of time earlier looking all around as if they thought they were being followed. He had had to keep some distance away, but as the morning passed, they became more and more absorbed in each other and paid less attention to the landscape.

The one thing he didnt want to do was hurt the boy. He had a horror of harming an innocent person. The only way to make sure of his target was to get close enough to see her clearly, which meant following them into the wood.

Quietly and cautiously he moved down the course of the stream. His daemon the green-backed beetle flew overhead, tasting the air; her eyesight was less good than his, but her sense of smell was acute, and she caught the scent of the young peoples flesh very clearly. She would go a little ahead, perch on a stem of grass, and wait for him, then move on again; and as she caught the trail in the air that their bodies left behind, Father Gomez found himself praising God for his mission, because it was clearer than ever that the boy and the girl were walking into mortal sin.

He watched them go in among the trees. They hadnt looked back once since coming over the top of the ridge, but he still kept low, moving down the stream at a crouch, holding the rifle in one hand, balancing with the other.

He was so close to success now that for the first time he found himself speculating on what he would do afterward, and whether he would please the Kingdom of Heaven more by going back to Geneva or staying to evangelize this world. The first thing to do here would be to convince the four-legged creatures, who seemed to have the rudiments of reason, that their habit of riding on wheels was abominable and Satanic, and contrary to the will of God. Break them of that, and salvation would follow.

He reached the foot of the slope, where the trees began, and laid the rifle down silently.

He gazed into the silver-green-gold shadows, and listened, with both hands behind his ears to catch and focus any quiet voices through the insect chirping and the trickle of the stream. Yes: there they were. Theyd stopped.

He bent to pick up the rifle…

And found himself uttering a hoarse and breathless gasp, as something clutched his daemon and pulled her away from him.

But there was nothing there! Where was she? The pain was atrocious. He heard her crying, and cast about wildly to left and right, looking for her.

"Keep still," said a voice from the air, "and be quiet. I have your daemon in my hand."

"But, where are you? Who are you?"

"My name is Balthamos," said the voice.

Will and Lyra followed the stream into the wood, walking carefully, saying little, until they were in the very center.

There was a little clearing in the middle of the grove, which was floored with soft grass and moss-covered rocks. The branches laced across overhead, almost shutting out the sky and letting through little moving spangles and sequins of sunlight, so that everything was dappled with gold and silver.

And it was quiet. Only the trickle of the stream, and the occasional rustle of leaves high up in a little curl of breeze, broke the silence.

Will put down the package of food; Lyra put down her little rucksack. There was no sign of the daemon shadows anywhere. They were completely alone.

They took off their shoes and socks and sat down on the mossy rocks at the edge of the stream, dipping their feet in the cold water and feeling the shock of it invigorate their blood.

"Im hungry," Will said.

"Me too," said Lyra, though she was also feeling more than that, something subdued and pressing and half-happy and half-painful, so that she wasnt quite sure what it was.

They unfolded the cloth and ate some bread and cheese. For some reason their hands were slow and clumsy, and they hardly tasted the food, although the bread was floury and crisp from the hot baking-stones, and the cheese was flaky and salty and very fresh.

Then Lyra took one of those little red fruits. With a fast-beating heart, she turned to him and said, "Will..."

And she lifted the fruit gently to his mouth.

She could see from his eyes that he knew at once what she meant, and that he was too joyful to speak. Her fingers were still at his lips, and he felt them tremble, and he put his own hand up to hold hers there, and then neither of them could look; they were confused; they were brimming with happiness.

Like two moths clumsily bumping together, with no more weight than that, their lips touched. Then before they knew how it happened, they were clinging together, blindly pressing their faces toward each other.

"Like Mary said," he whispered, "you know straight away when you like someone, when you were asleep, on the mountain, before she took you away, I told Pan...”

"I heard," she whispered, "I was awake and I wanted to tell you the same and now I know what I must have felt all the time: I love you, Will, I love you...”

The word love set his nerves ablaze. All his body thrilled with it, and he answered her in the same words, kissing her hot face over and over again, drinking in with adoration the scent of her body and her warm, honey-fragrant hair and her sweet, moist mouth that tasted of the little red fruit.

Around them there was nothing but silence, as if all the world were holding its breath.

Balthamos was terrified.

He moved up the stream and away from the wood, holding the scratching, stinging, biting insect daemon, and trying to conceal himself as much as he could from the man who was stumbling after them.

He mustnt let him catch up. He knew that Father Gomez would kill him in a moment. An angel of his rank was no match for a man, even if that angel was strong and healthy, and Balthamos was neither of those; besides which, he was crippled by grief over Baruch and shame at having deserted Will before. He no longer even had the strength to fly.

"Stop, stop," said Father Gomez. "Please keep still. I cant see you, lets talk, please, dont hurt my daemon, I beg you...”

In fact, the daemon was hurting Balthamos. The angel could see the little green thing dimly through the backs of his clasped hands, and she was sinking her powerful jaws again and again into his palms. If he opened his hands just for a moment, she would be gone. Balthamos kept them closed.

"This way," he said, "follow me. Come away from the wood. I want to talk to you, and this is the wrong place."

"But who are you? I cant see you. Come closer, how can I tell what you are till I see you? Keep still, dont move so quickly!"

But moving quickly was the only defense Balthamos had. Trying to ignore the stinging daemon, he picked his way up the little gully where the stream ran, stepping from rock to rock.

Then he made a mistake: trying to look behind him, he slipped and put a foot into the water.

"Ah," came a whisper of satisfaction as Father Gomez saw the splash.

Balthamos withdrew his foot at once and hurried on, but now a wet print appeared on the dry rocks each time he put his foot down. The priest saw it and leapt forward, and felt the brush of feathers on his hand.

He stopped in astonishment: the word angel reverberated in his mind. Balthamos seized the moment to stumble forward again, and the priest felt himself dragged after him as another brutal pang wrenched his heart.

Balthamos said over his shoulder, "A little farther, just to the top of the ridge, and we shall talk, I promise."

"Talk here! Stop where you are, and I swear I shant touch you!"

The angel didnt reply: it was too hard to concentrate. He had to split his attention three ways: behind him to avoid the man, ahead to see where he was going, and on the furious daemon tormenting his hands.

As for the priest, his mind was working quickly. A truly dangerous opponent would have killed his daemon at once, and ended the matter there and then; this antagonist was afraid to strike.

With that in mind he let himself stumble, and uttered little moans of pain, and pleaded once or twice for the other to stop, all the time watching closely, moving nearer, estimating how big the other was, how quickly he could move, which way he was looking.

"Please," he said brokenly, "you dont know how much this hurts, I cant do you any harm, please can we stop and talk?"

He didnt want to move out of sight of the wood. They were now at the point where the stream began, and he could see the shape of Balthamoss feet very lightly pressing the grass. The priest had watched every inch of the way, and he was sure now where the angel was standing.

Balthamos turned around. The priest raised his eyes to the place where he thought the angels face would be, and saw him for the first time: just a shimmer in the air, but there was no mistaking it.

The angel wasnt quite close enough to reach in one movement, though, and in truth the pull on his daemon had been painful and weakening. Maybe he should take another step or two...

"Sit down," said Balthamos. "Sit down where you are. Not a step closer."

"What do you want?" said Father Gomez, not moving.

"What do I want? I want to kill you, but I havent got the strength."

"But are you an angel?"

"What does it matter?"

"You might have made a mistake. We might be on the same side."

"No, were not. I have been following you. I know whose side youre on, no, no, dont move. Stay there."

"Its not too late to repent. Even angels are allowed to do that. Let me hear your confession."

"Oh, Baruch, help me!" cried Balthamos in despair, turning away.

And as he cried out, Father Gomez leapt for him. His shoulder hit the angels, and knocked Balthamos off balance; and in throwing out a hand to save himself, the angel let go of the insect daemon. The beetle flew free at once, and Father Gomez felt a surge of relief and strength. In fact, it was that which killed him, to his great surprise. He hurled himself so hard at the faint form of the angel, and he expected so much more resistance than he met, that he couldnt keep his balance. His foot slipped; his momentum carried him down toward the stream; and ; Balthamos, thinking of what Baruch would have done, kicked aside the priests hand as he flung it out for support.

Father Gomez fell hard. His head cracked against a stone, and he fell stunned with his face in the water. The cold shock woke him at once, but as he choked and feebly tried to rise, Balthamos, desperate, ignored the daemon stinging his face and his eyes and his mouth, and used all the little weight he had to hold the mans head down in the water, and he kept it there, and kept it there, and kept it there.

When the daemon suddenly vanished, Balthamos let go. The man was dead. As soon as he was sure, Balthamos hauled the body out of the stream and laid it carefully on the grass, folding the priests hands over his breast and closing his eyes.

Then Balthamos stood up, sick and weary and full of pain.

"Baruch," he said, "oh, Baruch, my dear, I can do no more. Will and the girl are safe, and everything will be well, but this is the end for me, though truly I died when you did, Baruch, my beloved."

A moment later, he was gone.

In the bean field, drowsy in the late afternoon heat, Mary heard Atals voice, and she couldnt tell excitement from alarm: had another tree fallen? Had the man with the rifle appeared?

Look! Look! Atal was saying, nudging Marys pocket with her trunk, so Mary took the spyglass and did as her friend said, pointing it up to the sky.

Tell me what its doing! said Atal. I can feel it is different, but I cant see.

The terrible flood of Dust in the sky had stopped flowing. It wasnt still, by any means; Mary scanned the whole sky with the amber lens, seeing a current here, an eddy there, a vortex farther off; it was in perpetual movement, but it wasnt flowing away anymore. In fact, if anything, it was falling like snowflakes.

She thought of the wheel trees: the flowers that opened upward would be drinking in this golden rain. Mary could almost feel them welcoming it in their poor parched throats, which were so perfectly shaped for it, and which had been starved for so long.

The young ones, said Atal.

Mary turned, spyglass in hand, to see Will and Lyra returning. They were some way off; they werent hurrying. They were holding hands, talking together, heads close, oblivious to everything else; she could see that even from a distance.

She nearly put the spyglass to her eye, but held back, and returned it to her pocket. There was no need for the glass; she knew what she would see; they would seem to be made of living gold. They would seem the true image of what human beings always could be, once they had come into their inheritance.

The Dust pouring down from the stars had found a living home again, and these children-no-longer-children, saturated with love, were the cause of it all.